The Spark Continuum
by Spikewitwicky
Summary: This is a companion piece to Oreobot's excellent story 'The Spark Cell.' I would absolutely recommend checking it out. His story is sort of an updated play on the Gen 1 episode 'Autobot Spike.' In this story, which takes place in 1993, Sparkplug deals with the sudden loss of his son. Later, after learning his son didn't perish, the two deal with a whole new set of challenges.
1. Chapter 1: Cambridge

**CAMBRIDGE**

The Broken Deck had its usual smattering of regulars at 4:15 in the afternoon. Classes were done, leaving the bar's established late afternoon regulars - three who were perpetually unemployed, and two who were fine parsing out their retirement checks to drink two bourbons during _Jeopardy_.

Carly, Anu, and Michael came in and sat a few tables down from the five at the bar. They were fulling a wish that all had wanted since the start of the winter semester: to go to a bar in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. No labs. No assignments. No dissertations.

Carly ordered Dewar's and took a seat between Anu and Michael. She had a decision she had to commit to soon. But right now, she just wanted to savor this moment. This wasn't slumming, but it was an absolutely delicious indulgence. To take a segment of a day that had been shrewdly partitioned out since high school - and flippantly deviate from that routine. Still, there was that element of pure engineering that she couldn't turn off.

"So part of me just wants to say 'screw it' and just keep going on for my doctrine after December. I'm already in a groove, and I know it's only another few years."

She looked at Michael and immediately started to grin.

"But I know people can work and work on their doctrine. I know the economy's getting better. And I've heard from two companies already - one even said they'd move me to San Francisco or Seattle - my choice."

"But I keep on hearing how much stuff changes when you get out of school. I know these companies aren't going to be the type where it'll be your regular 40-hour weeks. It'll be closer to 60. Then, you buy a house. You start doing other things, and all of a sudden, there's no way you can find the time to go back to school. Especially after they told me what my starting salary would be."

Anu massaged her temple.

"Stop it. Stop it Stop it!"

Anu chuckled and looked over at Michael.

"You don't have to fully think through every goddamn scenario to its logical extent. You still have a few months to decide."

She raised her wine to the TV.

"Finals haven't even been over for a week. Relax." Anu looked over at the three at the end of the bar, barely visible by the sunlight coming in. "Just like those guys."

Carly gave a begrudging nod.

"I know…I'm trying. It's just hard not to think about this."

Micheal looked over at Carly and wanted to put his arm across shoulder. Just for a brief moment.

Carly caught a glimpse of Michael's gaze and quickly went back to sipping her Dewar's. She gave a tentative smile and looked at the television, focusing on the Physics category of _Jeopardy_. Anu opened her mouth to answer the $600 question.

"Oh! Ed - "

"Edward Witten!" Carly called out.

Anu shot Carly a glare. "I was just saying that!"

Carly grinned. It was the distraction she needed.

As an engineer, Carly had spent years focused on absolutes. As a coder, she knew the rules of precision - the slightest misplacement of a character could mean the difference between a program that runs smoothly, and something that just spews out thousands of lines of jibberish.

Those rules applied to the lab world as much as they did in the real world. And that included relationships.

It had been barely a month since she and Spike broke up. As both moved away from their shared experience with the Autobots, the two had fewer and fewer things to talk about. Living on different coasts didn't help matters either. And her pregnancy scare last year brought out the elements of Spike that she had grown more frustrated with. His boyish innocence and naivety, which she once accepted as an endearing quirk had turned into childishness and incompetence as he kept asking her what she was going to do. It was only a scare, but the incident highlighted the hugely divergent paths both were taking in their lives. Their adventures with the Autobots, what had once been the thing that tied them so close together, were becoming more like a footnote in her life.

But those drawn-out final six months between them didn't erase the fact that they had been a couple for more than five years. And every rule of romantic attachment states the last thing one should do after ending a relationship of that length is to venture into another one.

But Michael wasn't an equation. Yes, a relationship this close after a breakup was destined for failure, but Michael provided something that she hadn't had for at least two years with Spike: someone to talk to without a filter. She could talk physics, coding languages, and even the societal ethical implications of the emerging Internet. They could talk for days without so much as mentioning anything related to Transformers. With Michael, who was a year into his own doctrine, she had a respected creative rival as well. She was fine not having their current situation defined as boyfriend and girlfriend, but she also knew she wanted to spend more time with him.

Three months before they broke up, Spike was in town. He hitched a ride with one of the Aerialbots. She took him to a party with a few of her engineering classmates. Michael was also there. And after a few students began peppering Spike with questions about life with the Autobots. He couldn't help but get caught up in the attention of the other MIT students. After telling a story he had told at least 20 times in his life, he motioned Carly over.

"Heyah, you guys know my girlfriend Carly, right?"

Carly winced and recovered. It was true - a fact even. But what should have been a generic statement became a humiliation to her. She wasn't a master's student. She wasn't a fellow engineer with other gifted students from around the world. She was someone's _girlfriend_. But worse, she realized that she was okay with the label girlfriend. But she had come to the realization that she didn't want to be _his_ girlfriend.

The moment distracted Carly from the next question. Before she could answer, Anu blurted out "Bohr! Niels Bohr!"

Anu snapped her fingers triumphantly.

"And math is your strong suit, Carly!"

Carly laughed. It was a great afternoon it felt like what other non-engineering students must feel.

She had tried her best to not romanticize people who will never be engineers, physicists, or professors. But she had to admit, these moments, she would love to slip into the skin of those who were just fine doing the mandatory four-year collegiate stint, then working as a PR spokesperson somewhere. Getting home at 6 p.m., and unplugging until they have to get up for work the next morning.

Michael finished his beer.

"Another round?" he looked at his friends and fished in his pocket.

"It's on me. This book buyback money has to go to a noble destination."

"Sure," Carly said, finishing her Dewar's and sliding it to the front of the bar. She looked at Anu for confirmation.

"I don't have anywhere to be," Anu said.

The three lost interest in _Jeopardy_. Sipping her second Dewar's, Carly felt the slightest drop in control. This was her second drink at a bar in one sitting. They didn't have to be anywhere, but it had been so long since she wasn't on an agenda. So the three talked. About the typical "Who's better, Pearl Jam or Nirvana?" debate (all three agreed the correct answer was PJ Harvey). About their roommates. And inevitably, the conversations eventually went back to "shop talk." Try as they did, engineering and physics were so engrained in their DNA that most conversations they had inevitably went back to what they were working on.

Carly nodded to the conversation and briefly looked up at the television. On the television was Spike's high school senior picture.

Carly felt her like form was briefly ripped from her own body and placed beside her for a second before she came to and realized the time. 6:35. At this time, if Spike was on the world news, it couldn't have been because of a routine follow-up interview the media usually requested every year or so. Something had to have happened.

"Turn it up - " Carly pointed to the television.

The bartender looked up from a goblet he was cleaning.

"'scuse me?"

"The TV, turn it up please!"

Anu and Michael looked over at Carly with concern, then looked at the television. As the volume rose, the news filled the still-near empty bar.

"Details are sketchy, but it was believed that Mr. Witwicky was present near where the Autobots are stationed, in their spacecraft 'The Ark' when the Decepticons attacked. Spike and his father, William 'Sparkplug' Witwicky, of course, are believed to be the first humans to establish a relationship with the Autobots, who emerged in 1984 after a volcanic eruption reactivated the spacecraft where they sat dormant for millions of years. Spike Witwicky was 23."

Carly continued to stare at the screen. She heard the words, but the dates below Spike's high school picture gave a conclusive finality. 1970-1993.

"Carly?" Michael looked over at her glassy expression. Anu leaned in and put her hand on Carly's wrist.

Carly looked back up at the screen, but the news about his death had already became an item to move on from.

"The topic of healthcare has quickly become one of the key issues for next year's midterms. Today, Republicans unveiled a new series of ads targeting …"

The news became a fuzzy, echoey drone. Carly found herself trying to force air into her lungs. She then looked at Anu.

"I just saw him four days ago. We each had some things we returned…"

Michael looked from his bar stool to the outside. He would take Carly home, and Anu and him would be with her.

Carly stared at the multi-colored array of bottles from behind the counter. Yes, her grandmother died. Yes, her aunt died from cancer a few years ago. But in terms of facing death's finality directly, she had yet to experience it. Even every Autobot she knew had somehow lived through dozens of brutal battles she's witnessed.

Michael went for his keys.

"Let's get out of here. Let's just go back to your place and we can, Jesus, I don't know what we can do, but let's just get out of here."

Carly gulped and coughed. She looked over at Anu.

"I have to go to Portland."

"I need to be there."

Michael nodded and said "Absolutely, but let's just get you home first."

Carly sighed and said weakly "Fine."

Michael added "I'll drive. We can pick up your car tomorrow."

Carly closed her eyes, the initial shockwave barely registering. "Okay…"

She didn't know where she would stay. She didn't know what Sparkplug would say to her. Would he blame her for this? Would he refuse to talk to her? She couldn't even process any of the scenarios that were thousands of miles away. All she knew was she had to be on a plane to Portland tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2: Portland

**PORTLAND**

"Dad?!"

The sound awoke Sparkplug from his brief slumber. It was the sound of Spike's voice - with a hint of urgency.

Sparkplug stayed in bed for a moment, and then slowly got up. The voice was clear enough to echo through his empty house. He wanted to call out "Spike? Son?!" But his history had already taught him about hearing that unmistakable call to him.

It was the exact same phenomena he experienced in the horrible days after his wife, Susan died. He would be jostled awake from the sound of Susan's voice - clear as a bell. It had the same hint of mild desperation as the sound he just heard. And just like the tone of Spike's voice that he swore he just heard, it didn't sound like distress, more like a call for help for a task that only Sparkplug could do. "Dad! Can you help me with this gasket seal?" "Dad, you're missing this drive, they're already at the 8 yard line!"

Sparkplug closed his eyes. He knew hearing "the voice" was part of his new normal. He knew the sound didn't exist in real form. At this moment, he knew his son was at Wilhelm's Funeral Home, the arrangements all made for his funeral service tomorrow. The visitation about nine hours from now.

When Susan died, and Sparkplug heard her voice echo through their old house, it was all he could muster to not answer back. After all, the entire ordeal, the car accident, hit by an inattentive motorist, could have been a horrible dream. But Sparkplug knew that the moment he could call out "Susan!," his 11-year-old son would burst out of his room, still believing there could be a chance that she was still with them. That it was a horrible case of mistaken identity.

But Sparkplug had to check. Just like today. So he did so in the same way when he heard Susan's voice, more than 12 years ago. He crept downstairs, and went into the basement, and after a brief scan of the unfinished room filled with tools and boxes, he made his way back up the steps, and looked into his living room.

The airy silence of the main floor confirmed Sparkplug's assertion that no one had disturbed the area since last night, when he crawled into bed, exhausted just before 8 p.m. He was still wearing the same clothes he had on the day before. Finally, he went upstairs for one futile final check: Spike's old room.

Spike's door was open enough for an inch of the dull sunlight to cast itself on the hallway. Sparkplug gently pushed the door open, confirming what he knew about five minutes ago. He would hear Spike's voice again and again in the very near future, he knew. And despite each hour bringing more and more validation to the finality of Spike's absence, Sparkplug would still do a "run check" through the empty house.

Sparkplug stood just inside his son's room for a moment. It already looked like a museum exhibit. Spike had moved out when he was barely 19. The room still had the artifacts from Spike's high-school life that he no longer needed in his own place. The posters of the Portland Trail Blazers, one of just Kevin Duckworth, the comedically worn _Bloom County_ books, a bottle of cologne that he saved up for so he could impress Carly before they were a serious item. Tapes from bands he no longer listened to since he entered college.

Sparkplug reflexively thought "And this was Spike when he was 17…"

Sparkplug slowly went back to his own room. Once a master bedroom for him and Susan. Now simply his own. He knew the mantra that he had to adhere to, at least until Spike's funeral was done. Get up. Take a shower. Make the arrangements that need to be made today. Do everything you can to get him to his final resting place. You owe him that much.

The shower was short enough to just barely fulfill that task. He remembered wetting his hair, shampooing, and getting his legs, arms, and face. Next was shaving. Then getting dressed.

Sparkplug had already began to think about moving out of this house, once small enough for two, and now unbearably massive. He knew "that voice" would be there, and would belong to this house from this point forward.

He would still occasionally hear Susan's voice in this house, but it was far less frequent, and sounded far more distant than in their previous home. In early 1984, Sparkplug said he was going to look for a different place to live for the two of them, using the excuse of needing a smaller house. In reality, with the absence of another income, their house was going into foreclosure. He kept their dire financial situation from Spike, but he knew there were times Spike would get the mail after school. He knew he saw the letters go from "second notice" to more threatening tones, complete with official stamps and pink backing sheets.

Thankfully, Sparkplug's boss, G.B. Blackrock approached him with a lucrative short-term contract. A four-month gig on an offshore oil rig. It would have been enough to move into a smaller house, even though the loss of Spike's childhood home would still put him several thousand dollars in debt. The only caveat was Spike, who was 14 at the time. He would have to pull him out of eighth grade about two weeks before school was actually over. Sparkplug managed to secure a fake ID for his son that stated that he was 16 - the bare minimum age where he could work on an oil rig (and even that was pushing it).

And that of course, led up to _this_.

Sparkplug again began replaying "the choice" he made almost ten years ago. He had asked Spike to help flush out a drill bit on the oil platform. Then, a scene that no science fiction had ever prepared him for played out in in less than a half hour. Jets descended on their platform and transformed into massive robots. They quickly scattered the humans like someone clearing mice from a vacant building. Then, another set of gigantic robots emerged, but this group seemed to want to protect them.

He remembered the more fearsome of the "dangerous" robots destroying one of the supports like it was weakened tin. He remembers seeing his son fall into the cold ocean waters, and diving after him. He remembered being trapped underneath a segment of the platform, and watching it slowly sink above him, threatening to pin both him and his son into the ocean where they would drown in a watery grave.

Then, they were saved by the emergence of the largest living being he had ever seen. They crawled onto his shoulders, and with the help of another robot, they were pulled to safety. Soaked, and shivering, Sparkplug could barely process what had happened. First, the unthinkable: the oil rig where they were working on was attacked. Then, something that almost defied quantification: they were not alone in the universe, and he was one of the first ones to communicate with these new visitors.

He quickly volunteered to help these new visitors navigate Earth. At first, it was a reflexive gesture: they had saved their lives, it was literally the least he could do. But secondly, as the days went by after that rescue, he began thinking this was how he was going to provide for his son. Not just give him the basic elements of food and shelter, which even he had problems doing. But provide a genuine future for him. Their association with the Autobots would be sought after by people all over the world. And while he would never sell their access to the highest bidder, he knew he could somehow translate that access into providing a college education for Spike. Something he could never have done with the salary he was making.

But going back to that moment where he introduced himself and Spike to Optimus Prime, the being who rescued them from certain death, he knew the risks. He had seen his coworkers already being treated for injuries. He saw one man apply a makeshift tourniquet with his shirt to another coworker's leg. He saw another person withering in pain from being burned from the ensuing fire that destroyed their platform. Sparkplug briefly thought "this is what you're getting yourself into," but after almost facing homelessness, and seeing his bright, inquisitive son slowly begin to assume he'd be another full-time person on this rig in a few years, Sparkplug took the chance. He would risk his safety, as well as Spike's, to give his son this literal "once in a lifetime" opportunity that almost every other person in the world would happily take in a nanosecond the moment he walked away from this chance. And it ended with Sparkplug exactly where he was right now.

As Sparkplug walked into the kitchen, the phone rang. He didn't have the energy to answer it. He began making coffee, even though right now, he would be fine going back to bed and sleeping some more. The answering machine clicked on. Another media inquiry. He flinched in anger as he heard his answering machine take the call. It sounded like an older reporter.

"…first off, I want to offer my condolences. I know you've been getting requests, and I know how much pain it must be for you. And as much as I hate to say this, I've covered many deaths in my life. As much as I understand you not wanting to talk to anyone at this time, I want to tell you that right now, more people are hearing about your son than ever before. If any time you would want the world to know about your son, now is the time to tell us…"

The last sentence startled Sparkplug into picking up the phone.

"H…hello?!"

"Yes, this is William. Thank you, I was just…outside when I heard the phone."

"Thank you…"

Sparkplug listened to the reporter and shut his eyes. He let out a defeated sigh.

"Yes. If you could, 3:30 this afternoon would be fine. I'm assuming you have my address? Okay. Thank you…"

Sparkplug hung up the phone and let out another sigh. As the coffee was brewing, he couldn't help but think he was just manipulated by a local reporter into getting "a scoop." But she was right. Better to be the storyteller than to have someone else form a story about his son. The world needed to know who Spike was. That he was a _good kid_. Even if that's all he could think of right now, it would likely fill the 45 seconds of time before they moved onto the next story.


	3. Chapter 3: A Familiar Guest

As the coffee was brewing, the doorbell rang.

"Goddamnit!"

Outside, Carly jumped. She looked back to her car. This was a horrible idea. She should have just went to the funeral tomorrow, hung around in back, signed the memorial book, and then quietly duck out and catch her plane back to Cambridge. But it was too late, Sparkplug opened the door and looked at her.

Carly froze. She hadn't seen Sparkplug since her and Spike broke up. She imagined what Spike told Sparkplug about her. And now, the person who dumped his son was standing in front of her. She felt the anger of his outburst inside after she rang the doorbell.

Carly stammered.

"William, Sparkplug - I am so sorry - I'll leave, but I just want…"

But before she should say anything, she was practically enveloped by Sparkplug as he hugged her. Sparkplug held her for a few seconds, and sobbed silently. Carly was so taken aback, she didn't return the hug for a few seconds, but then she hugged him back tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Sparkplug."

Sparkplug pulled away and wiped his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"No, don't…I'm sorry! I should have called!"

Sparkplug smiled sadly and looked inside. He couldn't bring himself to ask her to come in. Maybe she was here to pay her respects. or drop something off.

Carly looked in and stepped inside, much to Sparkplug's relief.

"I was just making some coffee if you'd like."

Carly looked over her shoulder, taking in the place and the memories.

"Huh? Oh yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

Carly looked on as Sparkplug made his way into the kitchen. Despite her wanting to break up with Spike, she had always liked Sparkplug. While her father and mother were each committed to one-upping one another in the career department, Sparkplug represented the typical father she had heard about from her friends, and from TV and movies. It was him who taught her how to maintain her car. It was he who fixed her sink in her first apartment when her landlord went MIA. And in the end, it was he that likely delayed her decision to break up with his son, knowing that she would be forever losing him as a potential father-in-law.

Sparkplug came back with two coffee cups and sat down.

"Carly, I can't imagine what you paid to get out here, but thank you."

Carly shook her head.

"Don't even think about it. It's nothing. I had to come."

Sparkplug began talking just to fill the space between them with something. The visitation would be tonight from 5 to 7. Funeral tomorrow. A lunch after. Then - he had no idea. Carly listened and nodded. She couldn't think of a delicate way to ask, but she had to know.

"You don't have to answer, but I hadn't heard on the news. They said he … it was a during an ambush. How.."

"The Decepticons surprised the Autobots. Everything came up so fast. And Spike…"

Sparkplug shook his head and let out a weak, nervous laugh.

"Spike went for his car. Because you know how much that car meant to him. And Ravage bit his leg."

"His leg?"

Sparkplug wiped each of his eyes with his finger and then rested his hand on the table.

"The doctor. He said the bite was on his calf. It should have been just a nasty leg injury, but the force…it tore his femoral artery."

Sparkplug closed his eyes.

"Ravage took him away for a few minutes I guess. And while doing that, he must have knocked him out, because the doctor said he also suffered a concussion. The good news, I guess is that he must have blacked out. The Autobots got him back fairly quickly, but between the time that Ravage had him, and how far a hospital was. It just wasn't enough time."

Sparkplug's voice broke.

"He was knocked out, so I keep telling myself I hope he didn't realize what was happening, that he just blacked out quickly and that was it."

Carly couldn't look at Sparkplug. The question she had, at least right now, was so petty to her. But likely after tomorrow, she would never see him again. If she didn't find out now, she would never know. And it would constantly be in the back of her mind.

"Sparkplug…I have to know - and please give me the honest answer - I can take it." She steeled herself.

"Did he hate me - after what I did?"

For the first time since he heard the news of his son's death, Sparkplug gave a genuine smile. He offered his hand on the table. Carly quickly squeezed it.

"I'll say this - yes, he was upset. But Carly, you gotta realize, you're a hard person to get over. He had every intention of traveling to wherever you were after he graduated to ask your hand in marriage."

Carly flinched. They were still in college. She had heard him mention marriage sometimes, but just in casual, hypothetical conversations. She had been the only person he ever dated. Was he genuinely that serious about marriage?

"But as his dad, I can tell you - he would have eventually moved on, and he would have understood where you were coming from. It may have taken a year or even a couple, but he would have."

Sparkplug smiled sadly.

"In fact, just last week, I was thinking of you two. Like, 20 years from now. I pictured both of you bumping into each other at some airport. You'd both be waiting for your planes, and you'd both go for a beer. You'd talk about your kids. He'd talk about his kids. And he'd secretly tell you about how sometimes, his wife would drive him nuts, and you'd talk about how your husband does the same thing. Maybe you'd say something like your husband couldn't change the headlight in his car to save his life!"

Carly laughed, harder than she expected.

"And you both would say you were still happy with the paths you both chose. And you two could talk about that sort of stuff because you two were finally able to go from where you were to now being friends."

Carly couldn't look at Sparkplug again.

"I would have liked that."

Sparkplug rested his meaty, rough forearms on the table. It had already sunk in for him that he had begun to refer to his son in the past tense. He sniffed.

"Chip…he's flying out for the funeral. He should get in early enough to make the visitation tonight."

Sparkplug gave a cautious look at Carly. He already gave a strict rule for tomorrow: no sightseers. Only family and friends of Spike's. He knew Spike would have wanted Bumblebee there, but right now, it was just too much for him. And he knew the sight of a Transformer would turn the story that would play on the news into something related to the Autobots. He couldn't take that. So he relayed to Optimus Prime: no Autobots are to be in attendance.

The only problem was Spike. He hadn't heard of any new friendships at Portland State University. In fact, months ago, he began hinting of even dropping out of the university to work for Blackrock full-time. Spike was getting more and more excited about hearing from Blackrock, the big boss himself about how his company was experiencing a shortfall of people like Spike and Sparkplug - experienced mechanics, good with their hands, and strong work ethic. When Spike saw how much money he would make in his first year at Blackrock Construction as opposed to life as a reporter or an English teacher, he thought there was a typo.

To compound this, few of the people in the journalism school had similar backgrounds. Most were either the sons and daughters of people fully entrenched in the field of academia, or were professionals. Every time he heard the line "I'm not going to be working as a mechanic or a waiter," Spike flinched internally. His father's occupation was a cautionary punchline to many of his classmates.

The final piece of his isolation was the Autobots, of course. Sparkplug gently prodded his son to try to stay more engaged with the goings on in high school. But he also knew this was next to impossible for his son. He and Spike were the closest people in contact with another alien species. A species that shared almost the same emotions as they did. Spike could communicate with them easier than he did with most humans, save Carly and Chip. How could he possibly pursue a "normal" life?

All of this led to tomorrow. Sparkplug's brother and his wife would be there. Sparkplug's parents would be there. His boss on the oil rig on that fateful summer day in 1984 would be there. Even Blackrock called him and said he would try to be there, but couldn't offer any guarantees - just that he'd try. There should just be enough capable men there to serve as pallbearers. But in terms of Spike, he hoped at least one friend he met at Portland State would be there in addition to Chip. And most importantly, he hoped Carly would be there.

"Carly, I even hate to ask. You've already flown out here. I don't know if you have to be back, but if it's money, I can pay for another fare, but could you please…I know you were no longer together, but tomorrow, could you…"

Carly nodded emphatically.

"I planned on being there tomorrow. I don't fly out until Friday."

Sparkplug closed his eyes in relief and leaned back. He briefly looked at the kitchen table where he and Carly were sitting and thought of the times where he, his wife Susan, and Spike would eat breakfast. He looked back at Carly and tried to smile.

"So…I hear you have a big decision coming up. You got a few job big-time job offers out there, but you also want to get your doctorate?"

Carly rubbed her thumb and wiped a tear from her eye.

"Oh…yeah, but now, I didn't even know. I don't even see how that even matters now. That's the last thing I think you'd want to hea-"

Sparkplug shook his head and interrupted.

"Please, Carly. I want to know."

Sparkplug smiled. It wasn't what he felt like doing, but for her sake, he wanted to put up as good of a front as he could.

"Whatever you do, I know you'll do the right thing. You always do."

Carly and Sparkplug talked for a few more minutes. The more she talked with him, the less she felt like she could see Spike's room. It was too painful. Carly finished her coffee and brought it to the kitchen sink. Fishing out her key, she said "I've got some things I want to take care of here. But I'll see you tonight."

Sparkplug gave an understanding nod and walked her to the door. He looked at Carly. He didn't know if he would have time to talk to her tomorrow, or even tonight, but right now, he couldn't think of anything to say other than "thank you" again.

Carly nodded and walked to her rental car. She said she had things she needed to do, but in reality, there was nothing to do here but wait until tonight and tomorrow. Most likely, Carly thought this was the last time she would ever step foot in the Witwicky household.


	4. Chapter 4: Hunger Pains

_A few months later…_

 **THE ARK**

Spike walked through the Ark's corridors. He never thought he would say this as a human, but The Ark was starting to get cramped. He was looking forward to the eventual completion of Autobot City, where he heard that like other Autobots, he would have his own small area to himself in the massively-constructed barracks. Until then, he's had to wander off on his own if he wanted a bit of solitude. The forest surrounding Mount St. Hilary had become a favorite spot of his. It at least complied with Prowl's orders to stay as close to The Ark as possible.

The after effects of the mind transfer occasionally surfaced. Sometimes, he would tell Wheeljack and Ratchet about them - the headaches, the difficulty it took to still transform, how it sometimes felt his mind was in a fog. But some other maladies he kept to himself. Like today - he couldn't explain it. He knew his systems were at full power. He didn't want to greedily ask for more energon. But he sincerely believed he was starving.

He walked past the repair bay and down the corridor toward the command center where a few of the screens were displaying human television programming. His optics locked in and slowly narrowed on a pizza commercial. At that moment, he would have given anything to be able to again taste a crunchy, cracker-like crust with mozzarella, tangy tomato sauce, and basil. Then, he thought about nachos. What an absolutely beautiful concoction of crunchy, hot, cool, and spicy. In one dish. Jesus, just to have one more bite of this in his mouth. His hunger was near ravenous, but he didn't want to tell Ratchet or Wheeljack.

In college, he read about times where people were put on liquid diets, and he read about their yearnings for solid food. He also read about amputees who would experiencing severe "phantom pains." He didn't think he could ever truly experience that phenomena, but he believed his current hunger pains had to be similar, to a far less degree. But he was so incredibly hungry.

"This is exactly what you're going through right now. You're just mad that you're on a liquid diet, but you're full power - they've already done enough for you. Do you really think Ratchet has time to hear you bellyaching that you can't eat 'real' food? Be happy that you're alive. No one who'd be in your position would be complaining about this - they'd be too busy finding a way to pay back these guys for giving you another lease on life," Spike ruefully thought to himself.

It wasn't just the food though in the commercial that he was longing for. It was that "scene" - even if it was manufactured for a TV ad. To be in a booth, scrunched up with friends on a cold winter Saturday night, laughing. True, he usually kept to himself in college, but there were exceptions, Spike thought to himself. He loved the construction crew he worked with over the summer. Chip was a reliably great friend. And David from the journalism school. Unlike most of his fellow students, David grew up poor, just like Spike. David's father had a rare cancer that drained his family savings. He had just started to get to know him.

Spike paused to recall his last conversation with David. They were outside his professor's office, looking at their final grades before their summer break. David got an 82, Spike got a 79. As they walked out, both talked about being annoyed at hearing other classmates' stories of either trips to London or Rio over the summer, or the list of concerts they were going to see. Some were even taking weeks off to _follow_ some of the bands they loved. Spike's summer was pretty much made up by his employer. David talked about how much overtime he was going to make as a line cook in the restaurant he worked at over the summer. Both laughed at the prospect of going back to school was going to be a vacation from the summer of long work hours they were facing.

He remembered trying to arrange a few days before school where both could relax and hang out. How was David doing in school now? He knew he lived in Olympia, and Sparkplug said David called him and told him he wanted to attend his funeral, but he couldn't get the day off. Had all of this only been five months ago?

As Spike stood in the entryway in the command center, he saw Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Mirage, Prowl, Hound, and Wheeljack huddled. Wheeljack waved a hand to Spike.

"Heyah! How's the newest Autobot today?"

"Uh…just fine, Wheeljack, thanks."

Spike looked on at Prime and Bumblebee and immediately wanted to be elsewhere. He had so much he still hadn't absorbed. And it was not the typical thoughts he'd want to talk with any of the Autobots about, even Bumblebee. Spike gestured over his back.

"I was just about ready to head out and do a patrol. Is that okay?"

Prowl folded his arms and gave a reluctant nod.

"That's fine, I suppose. Just make sure you're not detected. And be back here no later than 4 cycles."

Spike gave a confused look at Prowl, totally forgetting the time translations.

"Huh?"

Hound smiled sympathetically at Spike.

"That's five hours. He'd like you back in five hours."

Spike nodded and proceeded to walk to the entrance, but Prowl stepped in front of him.

"And I want you to radio us immediately if you so much as even think a Decepticon is in the area, even if there isn't, if you so much as detect. We don't want a repeat of what we had - "

Spike closed his eyes, immediately regretting the incident that just seemed to blow up in front of him before he had a chance to react.

"I know, I'll be more carefu - "

"And stay in your vehicle mode. Wheeljack has added some additional radar-evading enhancements to you, but they're not going to be worth anything if you're in your robot mode."

Spike's shoulders slumped.

"Right. I know. No transforming. Be back in five hou…four cycles, and call at the first sign of trouble. Are we done?"

Spike looked at Prowl and then looked at the entrance, now wanting to get out of the Ark more than ever. Prowl gave a begrudging nod and let Spike leave. He waited until he transformed, and saw him disappear from view as he drove out of the entrance before returning to the command center.

Bumblebee gave a weary sigh and looked at Prowl.

"Easy, Prowl. He's still adjusting."

Prowl looked at Bumblebee, then at Optimus Prime. Prime leaned against the wall in the command center and gave a nod to Prowl to tell the Autobot scout.

"Bumblebee, I have to be tough on him now."

Prowl looked at everyone in the room and revealed what Sky Spy and his intelligence team had gathered.

"Megatron is still livid. He still hasn't gotten over his humiliation in front of entire Decepticon army, including Starscream."

Prowl then turned to Bumblebee.

"While Megatron never explicitly said it before, he didn't deliberately target either Spike and Sparkplug when they were living with us. While he would say it wouldn't be worth his time or effort, it was implied that deliberately making an attempt to kill a weak species like Sparkplug or Spike was beneath even him. Collateral damage, sure, but not deliberate."

Bumblebee tilted his head slightly.

"But now… to Megatron, those safeties that protected Spike are now totally gone. To Megatron, Spike's just as much of an Autobot as you, me, or Optimus Prime."

Bumblebee frowned.

"Those protections didn't protect Spike in the first place!"

"Spike's death was an accident, Bumblebee! It wasn't intentional. But now - "

Prowl looked at Optimus Prime.

"Megatron knows how much Spike means to Optimus. And he knows that Optimus feels responsible for his situation now. And now that he's as strong and protected as us, all bets are off. He's going to target him because he knows that is one way to get Optimus Prime if he can't physically harm Prime."

Optimus Prime approached Bumblebee.

"I'm sure Megatron will recover from this, and will find a new target to terrorize, but I agree with Prowl. And that is why I'm recommending in the next few days sending Spike to Cybertron. Alpha Trion has informed me that a new battalion of Autobots has been created, and are ready to undergo combat training."

Bumblebee's optics widened.

"No! You can't send him to Cybertron!"

Bumblebee looked at Prowl and Optimus.

"Look, I know Spike. He's not a fighter! You can't just send him to an infantry facility to be trained to blast 'cons. He's not a Warpath. He's not even a Sideswipe. If anything, he's like Hound or Hoist."

Optimus gently raised his hand at Bumblebee.

"Do not worry. I've asked them to put Spike in the program they use for medics, after all, that is what he said he wanted to be when he's better acclimated here."

Optimus Prime looked down at Bumblebee.

"But even medics need military training. If he's out in the field, and he's tending to an injured Autobot, and he's being fired on - that is a likely, almost certain scenario, and he'll need the training to not only respond to it, but to psychologically handle it as it happens. To react when you're under fire"

Bumblebee clinched his fist.

"Fine, then we training him here. He knows us. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker can teach him infantry, I'll even handle most of his training."

Optimus Prime shook his head.

"As much as I want to keep him here, we're stretched thin enough as it is. We can't afford to train him, then discontinue the training while emergencies come up, and resume it again. He needs a sustained training regiment, like all of us went through. As I said, he won't be in the infantry wing, but I honestly believe that now he's an Autobot, he needs to undergo the same training that we went through. Not doing this only puts him further in danger."

Bumblebee lowered his head.

"Have you told Sparkplug?"

Optimus Prime nodded.

"I did. He agrees."

Hound approached Bumblebee and rested his hand on the scout's shoulder.

"It's one stellar cycle, almost six months in his time frame. And while I don't want him to lose that which makes him human, I think right now, it'd be good for him to be around other brand-new Autobots. He's seen the impact of this war, but this will absolutely give him a different perspective."

Bumblebee walked to one of the screens in the command center to see where Spike was. He was approaching the city. Per Prowl's instructions, in his vehicular mode, and obeying the speed limit. He let out a defeated sigh.

"I just hope it isn't too much for him to absorb."

Bumblebee looked at the others.

"I mean, just think about it. A few months ago, he was picking out classes for his next semester. Then, he had to deal with where he is now. And now… we're telling him he's going to have to leave everyone he knows here and go to what he knows as basic training."

Mirage frowned.

"A few months ago he died in front of all of us, he's lucky to even have this chance. No human on Earth has ever been this lucky to have what he has now!"

Bumblebee looked at Mirage in disbelief and raised his voice.

"He lost his life, everything that makes him human, and you call him lucky?"

Mirage looked directly at Bumblebee and pointed at him.

"Yes! Yes I am. Look at him now. Before us, he probably would have lived for what, 70 more years? Now, he could live as long as Kup if he played it safe enough! He could live millions of years longer than when his friends and family have long since passed!"

Hound gave a sympathetic smile.

"Mirage, humans aren't quite like us. Yes, I'm sure Spike's happy, elated in fact, to have this new body and this new 'life' - but he's still very much 'human' - and humans want to hold on to those things that define their lives. How would you react if you knew you would outlive every single one of us in here?"

Mirage shook his head and looked at display monitors.

"He's not a human anymore. You're going to have to stop treating him as such, Hound."


	5. Chapter 5: One Last Visit

_One week later…_

Fall break.

Carly had met Michael's family over Labor Day. But this was their first "trip" together. It took some convincing, especially to book a plane trip to the opposite coast of the United States in the middle of a school year. It took even more convincing given her reasoning. Yes, she was returning to Portland because she loved the city, but also to add a final bit of closure with Spike.

Yes, she attended his funeral. But even with a small number of family members, Chip, and a few reporters and photographers who were ordered to wait outside, it still felt like a zoo. There wasn't any time where she felt she could say goodbye to him alone. She could have waited for everyone else to clear out, but even then, she didn't know what to say. Now, after a few months, she finally knew what to say. And with a few cassettes in her bookbag, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Carly left Michael downtown, and drove her rental car to the cemetery. She brought her bookbag, and walked past the plots, reading a hastily-scribbled note detailing Spike's plot location. She saw the dirt, still clearly distinguishing his resting spot from the others around him after five months. But now, the dirt had gone from a noticeable hump to a flat rectangle. She saw the yellowed photo that Sparkplug laid, and a few flowers that had long since wilted.

She stood above Spike's plot, and put her hands behind her back. She then knelt down and pulled out two tapes from her bookbag. One was a mixtape that Spike made for her. Another was one she had made just before she left for this trip. She set them aside his stone marker and rested her hand over the name 'Spike.'

"Thought you'd like some tunes."

Spike's mixtape was the last thing of his in Carly's apartment with the exception of one thing. On an unusually chilly September morning, Carly was fishing through her wardrobe, and came across Spike's Oregon Ducks sweatshirt. Its sudden appearance caused a new wave of emotions to hit Carly. After classes, when she returned to her apartment, she put on the sweatshirt and sat on the couch. It felt like him. She remembered he hastily stowed it in her closet as he had to change into a dress shirt, which was of course wrinkled because he carried it in his workout bag. It still even smelled like him, given he didn't bother to put it in the laundry. When Michael came by, he joked that she bought a sweatshirt two sizes too big.

Carly blinked, briefly displaced from that memory. She stood up and looked around. While she meant to pay him a visit, especially now since the chaotic pace that usually accompanies a sudden death has now turned to a barely-registered hum. She looked down at the marker for a few moments and smiled.

"I'm still keeping your sweatshirt though. I'm hoping you won't mind."

Carly looked around for a few moments, wondering if this would be the last time she'd visit Spike. She took out her camera and took a shot of the gravesite and got back into her car. She silently drove back into the city and parked next to an ATM and got some cash for later.

Carly thought about getting back into the car, but Michael was only a few blocks away. The weather was nice enough that she decided to walk. Looking around, she thought this would likely never be out here again. At least until when she completed her PhD, and was given a job out here. But would she even take a job offer in this city? She kept walking to the next block.

Carly blinked and stopped. Three cars in front of her - she saw the unmistakable markings of Spike's black Civic. She froze. It was his. The vanity plate, the Autobot sticker. She slowly moved toward the car, making sure no one was in it. Was Sparkplug in the area? No. He told her he had sold the car.

No one was inside. She looked around. No one was walking down either side of the street. She peered in. It had to be someone's else. Spike was meticulous about keeping the inside of his car clean, but it still had the occasional Kurt Vonnegut book or Pearl Jam tape. But now, it was pristine.

Carly looked around. She was already late to meet Michael. She quickly pulled out a small notebook from her bookbag. She was afraid someone would see her, but she had to say something, so she leaned over and rested her arms on the roof of the Honda. She gave a knowing smile and says in barely a whisper as she was writing -

"Heyah, I visited your resting place today,"

She gulped and gave a sad smile as she continued to write.

"I thought you'd be sick of all the flowers and stuff, so I thought I'd give you something you could actually 'use' - I think you'll like PJ Harvey. I put her and a few other ones I hope you'll like."

She looked up, making sure she wasn't seen. Still no one was around.

"I know you and I talked about this a few times, especially with what the Autobots believe. I still don't know if this is 'it' - or if we move on to other planes of existence after this life here ends."

Carly paused, feeling her words grow heavier.

"But…I now think I believe that in some way, we all keep those who have died alive somehow in our memories. And I promise you, for as long as I'm alive, I will remember you - for as long as I live."

She finished writing the note, and lifted the windshield wiper blade and place the note on the windshield. She gave a knowing smile and rested wiper blade over the note, leaving it in perfect view of Spike's optics.

Spike scanned the note's contents.

Dear Honda Civic Owner:

 _Congratulations on this purchase. I can assure you, this car was very well taken care of. You see, the owner was a mechanic, and a great one at that._

 _Given you don't know me, I know this is going to be presumptuous, but I ask that you take care of this car. For the car you are riding in belonged to someone truly special. That is all. Happy travels._

Spike looked on, scanning the note's contents again. He gasped, and the froze.

Carly was already almost four cars away at the stoplight when she turned. Did Spike's car just make a noise? She peered past the cars to look at the Honda.

Spike was in disbelief. Had Carly came back to see him? The letter! Her words! They may never be together again, but she still thought of him. She didn't hate him. He wanted to disregard the protocols and activate his transforming mechanism and run to her, and tell her how much that small gesture meant.

"Carly!"

Spike's optics looked at the man at the stoplight calling out to her. The man waved at Carly.

Carly gave a 'just a second' wave, and gave a last look at the Honda. He could have sworn his optics and her eyes connected. She gave a final smile to the car, and turned around and walked toward Michael. She nodded.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm late, I got sidetracked…"

Michael smiled and put his arm around Carly and the two continued to walk toward the oyster bar they were planning on meeting 15 minutes ago.

"It's okay, I was just wondering where you were. Did you visit his grave?"

Spike's intensified his audio receptors, but the conversation was fading. He saw Carly gesture behind her shoulder as the two kept walking.

"Yeah, actually, you won't believe this - I JUST saw his car!"

Michael looked and let out a short laugh.

"No way!" He looked at Carly.

"Are you okay?"

Carly nodded, as they continued to walk.

"Yeah. Thanks for waiting. I left a note for the new owner - "

Spike couldn't hear any of the conversation. He waited until Carly and her new boyfriend disappeared. At this point, he didn't want to do anything but get back to The Ark.


	6. Chapter 6: Next Stop: Cybertron

_A few days later …_

Sparkplug continued to walk Spike to the shuttle landing area. He looked up after Spike finished telling him about the afternoon with Carly. He hadn't told anyone about their encounter until now. Her note neatly stowed in his glove compartment.

"Son, why didn't you say something to her? She visited your grave, don't you think that she deserved to know - "

Spike shook his head, cutting his dad off.

"No, that's why I didn't say anything." He looked down at his dad as they continued to walk toward the shuttle.

"She looked…like she had 'closure.' She looked content."

He continued, his voice growing more pained.

"And the guy she was with. She looked…like I said, content. But more than content…" He sighed. "She looked happy. Like genuinely happy. I hadn't seen her that happy in months when we were falling out."

Spike stopped and continued to look at his father. His head bowed.

"Everyone in the world thinks I'm dead. We had the funeral. I don't want people to think this was a cheap publicity stunt."

He sighed.

"Plus, it's true, right? I mean, I DID die. I'm buried in that cemetery."

Sparkplug shook his head.

"No, son. You're HERE. You're right in front of me. You're exact the same young man you were before - "

Spike shook his head.

"But I'm not dad."

He sighed.

"When I come back from military training, Optimus and Jazz thought Earth will just know me as 'Spike' - like I was built by the Autobots as sort of a 'tribute' to me. I'll be an Autobot called 'Spike.'"

Sparkplug folded his arms and frowned.

Spike rested his finger on Sparkplug's shoulder.

"Humans have got to know how dangerous the Decepticons are, and how critical it is the Autobots defeat them. If they think that humans can effortlessly be 'transferred into…"

He gestured to himself.

"This…"

He shook his head.

"The certificate is signed, I'm in the cemetery, people know that I'm gone. Except you. It's better this way."

Sparkplug looked up and nodded.

"Fine son, I understand. But I can't face my brother and his wife and lie to him. They're grieving."

Spike relented.

"Fine, but please, no one else. And tell them why I want it this way."

Sparkplug rested his hand on Spike's arm.

"I understand son."

Spike continued to walk with his dad. He began to realize how much he'd miss talking to him. Right now, the only other human who knew what actually happened to him.

"Dad, I'm scared. I don't want to be trained to be in the infantry. I know it's stupid - you were in the army, there's no reason why I shou - "

Sparkplug cut his son off.

"Son, I'd be worried if you were excited to be doing this. The fact that you're scared shows you know very well what you're getting yourself into."

He looked up at his son.

"You're NOT going to be sent into battle. You're just being trained for the basics to keep you alive and safe. Then, when you come back, you'll be working with First Aid and Ratchet. They'll train you to be a medic." He gave a flinty grin. "And I'm sure I still have a few things to teach you about cars, son."

Spike nodded. Not wanting to look his father in the eyes.

Sparkplug squeezed his son's mechanical arm.

"Son, look at me."

Spike's optics turned to his fathers eyes.

"Optimus Prime knows what you've been through. He just wants you to be prepared. And you NEED to be prepared. Not only for you, but for me, and Earth. Remember, you're a full-fledged Autobot now. You follow what your instructors say to the 'T' - and you'll be just fine."

Spike nodded.

"Yessir."

Spike and Sparkplug walked to the shuttle pad entrance where Jetfire was currently being fueled. Hoist and Grapple were loading supplies to take to Cybertron. If the law of averages panned out, Spike thought it'd be about a five day trip to Cybertron with Jetfire's interstellar speed.

Hound spotted Spike and ran toward him, carrying an electronic tablet.

"Heyah, Spike!"

Spike turned around, wondering what Hound was carrying. Hound grinned and displayed the new tablet proudly to Spike.

"Wheeljack thought you'd need this before you left! Don't worry, it's not going to blow up - at least, I'm 98 percent sure it's not."

Spike looked at the smooth, glass tablet, then looked at Hound.

"What is it?"

Hound tapped the tablet, which displayed an array of icons. One looked like a book. One looked like a music note.

"He thought you may get bored on the trip, so he loaded some of your books on this." He showed Spike, tapping a few times.

"Let's see - Vonnegut, Neil Gaiman, Hunter S. Thompson, Ralph Ellison…"

Spike looked on in wonder, then he pressed the music button. Somehow, Wheeljack managed to load all of his tapes and CDs onto this device. Spike shook his head, "I don't know what to say - thank you!"

Hound waved a hand.

"Don't mention it. No matter what form you are, we still need you to teach us about human stuff, right?"

Spike nodded slowly, looking at the ramp. Hoist was loading the last crate to Cybertron. The was only one item left to go.

Spike bowed his head slightly.

"Hound… " He looked at the ramp.

Hound patted Spike's shoulder and lowered his voice.

"I was just as scared and nervous as you were going to training."

Hound gave a slow, assured nod.

"I am not saying this to make you feel better. I know you're going to do great. And when you come back, I assure you, you're going to be the same person as you are in there - "

Hound pointed to Spike's chest.

"I hated war going into training. I hated war when I came out. But when I came out, I knew I was far more able to defend myself, and more importantly, my friends and those who couldn't defend themselves. Like you and Sparkplug when we first met you two"

Spike turned to Sparkplug and gave a sad smile. Sparkplug walked toward his son and gave him a hug. But now, he could only put his arms around Spike's chest or 'hood' area. It wasn't the same. But the fact that he had this chance again was more than he could ever ask for.

"I'll see you on your break in three months son. You be careful. And know you're still every bit my son."

Spike hugged his dad carefully and then looked as Optimus Prime, Wheeljack, and Bumblebee walked toward him. Spike straightened his posture and looked at the three and raised a hand.

"Ready to go, Spike?" Jetfire emitted from his speakers.

Spike looked back at Jetfire.

"Yeah Jets, let's go."

Spike took his new tablet and gave one last look to his friends and his father before the ramp closed. Spike took his seat and looked out. Optimus, Bumblebee, Hound, Wheeljack, and his father were still waving when Jetfire's engines roared to live and he began to hover.

Sparkplug looked at the jet that was carrying his son to another world. A tear rolled down his eye, but he didn't react, hoping the Autobots would imagine this would just be a result of some desert dust hitting his face. Optimus Prime knelt and rested a finger on Sparkplug's shoulder.

"We failed your son once, Sparkplug. I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure we don't fail him again."

Sparkplug looked up and gave Optimus an appreciative nod.

"Thanks, Optimus. I appreciate your intentions."

As Sparkplug watched Jetfire disappear into the atmosphere and into space, he sighed.

"But no matter what you do, you can't protect him from everything. All you can do is what you're doing now."


End file.
